Insanely in Love
by ALERT-PoisonedTampon
Summary: The world may have thought Squidward was crazy, but it was SpongeBob with the crazed love fixation. Who could blame him for wanting to show SpongeBob just how dangerous love could be? M for rape, gore, language, bunnies, slash, etc. Now complete.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: Hello there. You've reached the very first chapter of the very first fic written by the combined forces of Poisonetta, queen of all things rapish and disturbing, and Tampon Masturbation, queen of . . . um . . . masturbating with tampons, I suppose. For the record, I'm the latter. Ms. TM here. Put in charge of the first chapter. Intros are not my strong suit, but . . . eh . . . had to set the fic up for Poison's awesomeness, ya know?**

**Rated M for sexual content (including nonconsensual sex), violence, and language. Oh, and this is a slash fic. Just telling you know so we don't have to hear you bitching about it later on.**

For the record, Squidward didn't completely loathe SpongeBob.

In fact, he found the sponge to be almost endearing, in an annoying younger brother kind of way.

He chuckled to himself, breaking the twelve hour silence without so much as a turn of the head, bloodshot eyes still in their sunken sockets, unblinking in their surveillance of the wall. Cold white plaster, chipped paint, self portraits shattered and crumpled in a corner on the ground, a corner Squidward had no need to see.

He knew himself now. Didn't need to look at a picture, a cheap knockoff. Didn't need to paint himself. He was his own self portrait, his own painting, Monet, Picasso, Gaugin.

Not an artist, but a work of art himself. In his own museum, surveyed by the audience of himself. Seeing himself through the reflection of the wall. The wall reflecting in his eyes. Reflection upon reflection upon reflection.

So many details, lost in translation.

Everyone, everything dulling, dividing, subtracting.

But no longer was Squidward a reflection, a portrait of a portrait. No longer was he the ideal of the ideal.

He was.

Simple as that.

Noun/verb.

No. Pronoun. Pronoun/verb.

Didn't even need a name. Just the he. Squidward was man. Was he. Was everyman and no-man and some man. Did it matter? In the end, every man was the same.

Cold, empty, in the ground.

They would all die the same. Rot the same. Return to dust the exact same.

And so different.

Squidward was different. He could see that now. He was different and the same, identical even in his idiosyncacies.

He could see all this, through the wall, could see it so well, but couldn't expect anyone to understand.

Knew no one would comprehend in the way he did. Knew if he verbalized such things, he would be mad, insane, crazy.

That had been the problem. Speaking his mind. Minds weren't meant to be spoken, no. They were meant to be locked away, private, intimate. Sex wasn't the most personal gift. The mind was. Intellectual intercourse.

How could he have offered something so profound and so deeply his to that therapist?

Therapist.

The rapist.

Raping his mind. Taking the innocence of thought and perverting, subjecting to unspeakable tortures.

How could Squidward have expected a reciprocation and acceptance of his thoughts from such a man? Rapist. Therapist. The rapist.

How had he believed that the the-rapist had been correct? All that man had done was dull Squidward, placate him with opiate dreams the average man believed to be reality.

It was Squidward's curse to see the truth. His curse to throw away the pills prescribed so painstakingly, his curse to cease contact with that the-rapist, his curse to see, truly see. See the world in one wall.

That was it.

The world.

So small.

And large.

Small in its meaninglessness.

But so large with its insignificance.

Doublesize, doublethink. Both at once because of one concept.

How was he mad for noticing such things? How would not seeing keep him sane? Sanity and insanity. There was only a two letter difference. In.

He was sane, in. He was in his own sanity. He was his mind, wrapped in his brain, snug, safe.

Everyone else was outsane. Outside themselves. Fools. That was the dangerous way to be.

He could see all this, bleed it inside his merrily little organs, each drop of his lifeforce precious in its redundancy. Would it truly matter to lose a drop?

Each drop meant nothing.

Together meaning everything.

To just slit his wrists now . . . it would be nothing.

Which drop counted? Any? None?

Such clarity without pills. Had taken long enough to detox. One week. No, two. Two weeks.

Hadn't sat here for two weeks. Only a day.

One day.

Enough to understand completely.

The first half had been a waste, of course. Too much movement to truly contemplate.

But twelve hours . . . yes, twelve hours. Nothing. He understood now. Knew what had to be done.

The world could never see, would never accept. Too complacent with their outsanity.

The world was too small.

And Squidward was too large. Too large for this earth.

He knew, though. Twelve hours was an eternity. Twelve hours consisted of nothing but seconds. He consisted of nothing but his blood, drop for drop, perfectly in tune.

And SpongeBob?

How did he factor into any of this?

SpongeBob . . .

SpongeBob would have to be the world.

Another laugh, as only the in-sane could know the punchline completely. He was in touch with his sanity, with his psyche.

Touch.

Sight.

Taste.

Sound.

Smell.

All. His mind. He knew every corner.

Knowledge. He knew the joke, the game, the pieces.

He knew the world. The world did not know him, but he knew the world. The world was the wall. The world was SpongeBob. Knew it all.

And that allowed movement finally, a twist of the neck, slight, minuscule, but enough. A movement. A dance move in its own right. Twist and shout.

No, no shout.

Silent. Ever silent. Silence was golden, silver, platinum.

Eyes rolling, dry, frantic as they searched up. Imploring maroon to the ceiling as the laughter rolled from his tongue, playing each tooth. Symphony orchestra, all in his room.

Then silence again. Bringing in the gold.

The world couldn't laugh, not like Squidward could. Nor could it be silent. Somewhere in between. Melancholic chaos of the mediocre, of the mentally weak. Of those outsane.

And what of SpongeBob again?

The world.

SpongeBob, the world, the stars, the planets. Condensed.

He couldn't show the world. The world was small.

But SpongeBob . . . SpongeBob was palpable, malleable.

Available.

Squidward would show SpongeBob. Teach him. Craft him.

For he knew that sponge, knew him as well as himself. SpongeBob was nothing more than a trick of the lighting, a shadow cast from Squidward's inner sanity.

Yes, SpongeBob was everything wrong with the world. And right with the world. Perfect and imperfect, two in one. All opposites were truly synonyms in the end.

And he'd be here soon. SpongeBob. Soft, angelic, perfectly imperfect SpongeBob. Always showing up unwanted (foolish medicated Squidward had had no use for the world. For the sponge. The world in the sponge. The sponge in the world). Now, wanted, delays were understandable. Detestable, but understandable.

But he would come. Come for Squidward, come for his lessons in reality. SpongeBob. The world. Learning. Awakening. Mentally awakening, seeing all that the mind had to offer.

Because as of now, in his outsanity,SpongeBob wasn't truly real. Squidward was the only real one in this world, and SpongeBob . . . SpongeBob was nothing. The world was nothing. Unawakened . . . no, worse than that. A corpse. A laughing, talking, eating, working corpse. The world's puppet. Or was the world SpongeBob's puppet? Could one puppet that which was himself?

Was SpongeBob to be Squidward's puppet?

And the world?

A string to play, to pluck, to hesitantly strum . . .

Puppet instrument slave . . . yes, yes, yes.

First, though. Had to awaken the world. Had to awaken SpongeBob. SpongeBob, the world, everything. SpongeBob was everything.

Fake now, but tonight . . . tonight, Squidward would make him real. Tonight he'd give him flaws, pain, something to ground himself in.

And then, after all that, after the world shut down and SpongeBob became real, became sane inside, like Squidward himself . . . then . . .

Then Squidward would turn SpongeBob, turn the world, into

Absolutely

Nothing.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

"A date?" SpongeBob's eyes were wide as he watched his friend prepare himself.

"Yeah. Mindy and me are going dancing," Patrick couldn't hide the glee in his voice, couldn't deny the flush of joy on his rosy cheeks.

"Oh. S-sounds fun," SpongeBob looked down, kicking his feet slightly.

"Is something wrong?" The starfish asked, not truly caring one way or the other. Or . . . well, Patrick did care about the sponge. He just couldn't concentrate on caring right at this moment.

The yellow boy forced a smile. "Oh no! Nothing at all. I just thought I was staying the night tonight, that's all."

"Oh." Patrick paused in tying his tie (wearing a tie despite the fact that he still wasn't wearing a shirt), eyes growing large. "Oh crap! I'm sorry, Sponge, I totally forgot."

"It's okay," Another forced smile, with a bit of a giggle thrown in. "A date with Mindy is more important anyway."

"Yeah," Pat agreed.

SpongeBob fought the urge to tell his friend that the mermaid was only dating Patrick as a complicated means of defying her father. But of course SpongeBob couldn't say something like that. Not to his best friend. So instead, he continued to smile, face burning at the pain of holding that same position. "I hope you two have fun tonight."

"Oh, we will," Patrick chuckled. "I'm bringing plenty of rubbers."

"Huh?"

"Um, never mind. Hey, why don't you go hang out with Squidward or something. That outta keep you happy, right?" Gay guys tended to like Squidward, didn't they? Patrick sure didn't know. He wasn't gay.

Maybe a little bicurious . . . he shook his head, trying to rid his himself of such thoughts.

"Yeah . . . yeah, you're right! I should go see Squidward," SpongeBob smiled to himself. He hadn't seen the octopus in a few days. What was that friend of his up to?

"Great!" Patrick grinned, "Now I gotta put on some cologne. Chicks dig a guy that smells good, you know?" As if the sea star was any expert when it came to the ladies, being just as much a virgin as SpongeBob.

Except he was a heterosexual (with homosexual tendencies) virgin.

And SpongeBob was a fucking faggot.

But he was Patrick's fucking faggot. Best friends forever and all that.

And his best friend had a major crush on their bitter neighbor. So of course, Pat wanted to help the two out in whatever way he could.

What else were friends for?

"Alright," SpongeBob smiled. Always smiling, ever kind. "She'll love you."

"You really think?"

"I know!" SpongeBob hugged the starfish, snuggling against the soft chest of his friend. "How could someone not love you, Pat?"

"Uhhhhh . . . dunno. It would be impossible."

"Exactly, Pat, exactly! Now I'm gonna go hang out with Squidward. You and Mindy have fun tonight, kay?"

"You and Squidward have fun, too." Patrick's mind flooded with various images of SpongeBob and Squidward having various sorts of fun, in various positions, all night long (variously). He blushed, squirming in his fancy clothing. "Um . . . b-bye, okay?"

"Alright. Bye!" SpongeBob exited the rock, skipping over to the Easter Island head that was Squidward's home.

Oh, he and Squidward would be having fun, alright.

Lots and lots of fun.

More fun than SpongeBob would be able to handle.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hi kiddo's, its me, Poisonetta, instead of waiting forever to write my part of this fiction, I decided to go ahead and get mine done as soon as possible. I can only hope TM likes my part of the fic. I know its pretty short, and didn't go the way I planned, but I think I left you a good opening to go by, I'm so sorry if you hate it! I did try!! I LOVE YOU MAN!**

**...Anyway, off we go. Enjoy.**

**P-S: First story(chapter) I have wrote in forever, so sorry if its a bit rusty.**

_Knock Knock._

"Squidward, Squuuuidwaard!!" The young Sponge yelled as he smiled brightly.

"One second." A calm voice yelled back.

_Finally, finally it was time, the plan was being put into action, he spent months upon months planning on how this would go, figuring out every way it could turn, analyzing every single movement and second, he had it perfect, nothing would go wrong, nothing could go wrong._

The door slowly opened. "Squidward, I know you didn't want me over but-"

"Come in." The blue Squid spoke quietly.

"Uh...What?"

"I said, come in." Voice still calm, no hint of any other emotion, perfectly disguised. 

"Okay..." Spongebob muttered as he looked suspiciously at his neighbor, typically by now the door was slammed in his face.

"Why don't you take a seat..." The other spoke, keeping his voice calm and normal as he silently locked his door, he smiled proudly to himself.

"Thank you!" All suspicion thrown away, Squidward being kind to him was something he'd never had happened before, he looked at the room, "Hey Squiddy, why are all your portraits knocked down."

The blue man looked up, not expecting such questions.

"Uh...I'm preparing for more art." He spoke slowly to keep any hints of his true intentions out of his voice, he had to be careful as possible.

_Sure, this could have probably been done more simple, he could have knocked out the boy right when he answered the door, hell, he could do that right this second. But he didn't want to, no, that would be to simple, to easy. Besides, the young boy couldn't defend himself once Squidward was ready to get him, he was simply too weak, too fragile. Squidward could easily and quickly overpower the Sponge once he was ready. And it would be soon, very soon when he would reveal his true intentions._

"Spongebob, have you ever been hurt? Attacked? Or anything similar?" Squidward asked as he made sure his voice sounded nonchalant.

"Well...Once Patrick punched me, but it was just because I asked him to have a fake fight with me and I don't think he really understood what I meant." Spongebob laughed nervously at the memory.

Squidward sighed, "I mean, have you ever been attacked without planning it first?"

"No..."

"Well, I can change that." The blue man smiled sweetly as he calmly grabbed some rope he had on the ground, not noticed by the Sponge until now.

"W-What do you mean?" Blue eyes looked up in confusion.

"You'll find out in a moment..."

"I-I don't think I want to...I can j-just leave now, I can tell you don't want company..."

Stuttering, shaking, slowly speaking, fear, finally the younger male was understanding what was happening, what was going to happen. And nothing could change it.

"Your not going anywhere..." He reached down to grab a needle, that was also randomly on the ground.

"Good night, Spongebob." He spoke as he quickly and tightly gripped on the yellow sponge's arm and punctured it with the sharp needle.

"Ow!" Spongebob yelled, eyes watered as a reaction. "Why did you do that! I-I want...To...Go...Home..." Eyes slowly closed as the boy slumped over, breath slowed dramatically.

"Enjoy your sleep." Squidward muttered as he started to tie the boy up. "Last peaceful moment you'll have.

_The act was over, no more need to be kind, no more need to fake being calm._

_The game was just beginning, he couldn't go back, he could never change what he did and what he was about to do, no chance to look back, only to look forward._

_Spongebob was about to get a taste of reality, he was about to become real._

_In only a matter of time. _


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: TM here again. Fear not, Poisonetta. I am NOT making this fluffy. I promise. The ending of this isn't meant to be sweet. Don't worry, I'll get dark soon. So very very soon. And sorry it's short, but I wanted it to end how it did.**

**And you bastard readers need to review, dammit!**

SpongeBob was a much more interesting specimen to watch than the wall.

Squidward held still once more, heavy grunt work of tying and dragging the sponge out of the way, as he stared, transfixed, noting every tremulous breath, every twitch of bound limb, each flex of finger. He witnessed all: the perfect symmetry of that face, those three freckles per flawlessly rounded cheek, sunkissed yellow skin tight and youthful, pores compact and taunting. Open wounds in need of filling. SpongeBob had always been much too open. The world had always been much too open.

It was all fake. Reality wasn't supposed to be as such-open and symmetrical. No, openness was a lie crafted by the out-sane, to shelter the masses. Tame them, lull them into a false sense of safety.

But this truth no longer angered the six limbed octopus, no. Anger was no longer a necessity, but a waste. An inconvenience. A weak coping mechanism. And Squidward had no use for weakness, aside from the sponge's weakness, of course.

Speaking of the sponge, it appeared that, despite the circumstances surrounding the induction of sleep, he was having good dreams. Happy, carefree, giggle-worthy dreams.

SpongeBob laughed in his sleep (something Squidward hadn't expected, but wasn't surprised by). Mumbled a few nonsense words, paused as though for response, then giggled.

Squidward couldn't wait to break that habit, to yank his laughter from his throat and smash it, shatter it, slice away each chuckle, annihilate each smile. Bleed away his joy and fill him with pain and misery and reality.

But for now, he would wait, with a warm smile on cold lips, eyes sparkling in frozen sockets. Wait, watch SpongeBob twist and smile and dream. The world dreaming as reality loomed closer, a speck on the horizon that just grew larger as time unwound itself. Reality-the meteor the world could no longer pretend to avoid.

And now was the time to wake up SpongeBob. Wake him up gently, sweetly, fakely. Squidward had to go exactly as planned, exactly as reality dictated. Had to complicate SpongeBob's feelings before taking away every sensation.

- - - - - - - -

SpongeBob had never had any issues with nightmares. In fact, he'd never had any real nightmares, period. True, he'd dreamt of the occasional robot takeover or killer krabby patty, but never anything truly sinister.

Nothing to destroy his naïve vision of the world, nothing that could harm him, no.

Only childish fears, juvenile concerns. Worries with no real place in society, no real significance in his life.

And so, despite the fact that he'd been attacked by his secret crush, drugged and bound and forced into the modified backroom, the yellow boy continued to play innocent dreams in his head. Upbeat memories mixed with fantasy. His pet snail. His best friend. His . . .

Squidward . . .

SpongeBob twitched in his sleep, a small smile crossing his lips as the man began to descend into his dreams.

How he idolized Squidward. Admired, emulated, adored . . .

Loved . . .

His physical self squirmed as his heartrate increased. "Squidward . . ." A soft moan on gentle lips, a playful murmur. Not sexual, not truly lusting. Just love. Pure, innocent, childish love. Love and desire, a desire SpongeBob had never truly understood.

Maybe it was lust after all. But SpongeBob didn't understand feelings of that nature. He barely understood love.

But he knew, he KNEW he loved the octopus. Completely, totally, submissively.

And how he longed to feel those thin blue arms wrap around him, holding him close. Cuddling and hugging, rubbing at his back, keeping him warm and safe. He wanted Squidward so badly, wanted to share his life with him. To share everything, give everything.

But Squidward would never feel the same way. SpongeBob still hadn't accepted this completely; still felt there may be some way . . .

In dreams, though, anything can occur. Dreams were the mind's escape from a miserable reality.

Dreams were what kept SpongeBob so happy, so optimistic.

Even if he'd never have Squidward with him, never feel his heartbeat against his own . . .

Never feel those lips on his lips.

This was a particularly good dream for SpongeBob. The kissing had come early, even for him. Kissing . . . dream kissing. Him and Squiddy, mashed together, rough blue on soft yellow. Perfect. Absolutely perfect. If only that could be reality. If only when he greeted the day, he could feel that way.

SpongeBob opened his eyes then, expecting to shake away his dreams as baby blues fluttered open.

Only to discover himself pinned to the wall, not only by ropes, but also by his neighbor's hot, hungry lips.


	4. Chapter 4

**Hey darlings, its Poisonetta again...Stop booing. This is soooo short and not really vivid, but the next one I do, I will make it much more graphic I swear!!!! I am so sorry man! I'm so ashamed... But I do hope you all enjoy. Please Review, TM and I really do enjoy those...Alot.**

**Anyway, only realy warning for this is theres a bit of violence, nothing too extreme, if your a wuss you probably couldn't handle it.**

**Enjoy darlings, enjoy.**

He couldn't tell if he had woken up or not, sure he felt awake, but this couldn't possibly be real, this was his fantasy, his dream, but not his reality.

Once the blue squid finally moved his lips from the other, Spongebob finally decided to speak.

"S-Squidward...W-whats going on?" Ice blue eyes looked up in confusion.

_He had to break the sponge, completely and utterly, physically, mentally and spiritually to make him real, to show him life isn't as kind and amazing as the boy acted like it was._

"..." Squidward paused, he had planned to be sweet and kind for only a little bit, and he had figured that all out, he just never thought of what he would say, oh well, maybe sometimes silence was the best answer. He smiled a fake kind smile and pressed his lips against the others again, this time harder, slowly and carefully switching from kind to mean.

"Squidward..." The yellow boy muttered as he looked up at the boy in shy shock. "Why are you doing this?" He asked innocently.

_The question had no sharpness in it, no anger, nothing, so why did it bother the squid so much, Spongebob obviously didn't know what was going on. But regardless, it upset Squidward._

The game was up, thats what he decided, time for the real motives to show.

"You said you've never been hurt, in anyway besides being overly sensitive or by accident, right?" He asked calmly as he moved over to a dresser opening it and looking through it.

"Uh..." Spongebob looked down in thought. "R-Right..."

"Lets change that then, shall we?" He asked, of course it wasn't a question, even someone as ignorant as Spongebob could tell that.

"W-What!?" Blue eyes shot up at the squid.

"To put it bluntly." He paused to make his hands visible, which showed a knife and more rope. "I am going to hurt you." Slowly he started to walk toward the boy.  
"Why?!" The sponge asked urgently. "W...What did I do wrong?!"

"Nothing specific..." Squidward spoke nonchalantly as he walked closer.

"Then wh-Ow!"

It happened, it finally happened, the first cut was made.

Right on the cheek to be specific.

"Squidward!" He yelled, eyes watering automatically, body trying to move backwards in defense.

"Be quiet." The squid muttered, eyes seemed to glaze over in concentration as he pressed the knife against a stick thin yellow wrist, quickly and swiftly gliding it from one side to another.

A sharp gasp was the reply.

A few more stabs imprinted on the sponge before finally Squidward dropped the knife.

Spongebob looked up in hope, maybe just maybe it was over, more hope etched on his face as Squidward pulled the rope off him.

"We're not done." The blue squid muttered as if reading the smaller boys thoughts, he roughly grabbed the yellow sponge and pushed him roughly unto a chair, quickly tying his arms to the chairs arm rests.

"Not even close." And with that he walked back over to the dresser.

The game to realism was about to begin.


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: Damn, I was hoping this would be sicker. Oh well. Enjoy.**

They say actions speak louder than words.

But Squidward wasn't one to just take an expression such as that as fact. He wanted to find out exactly how true it was. Had to test the theory. Even now, fully immersed in his task, no longer using the tactic of false kindness, he had to test it. Actions verses words. But how best to test his hypothesis?

"SpongeBob," He began slowly, looking at the trapped and bleeding sponge.

SpongeBob sniffled, arms twitching in the ropes. His wrist throbbed painfully, the cut just deep enough to hurt immensely, to allow blood to leak, but not deep enough to kill. No, none of the earlier cuts were fatal. Not even close.

"Did you hear me?" Squidward said coldly, grabbing SpongeBob's face and jerking it up, forcing eye contact.

"Y-yes . . ." SpongeBob quivered. "I-I . . . I heard you, Squidward."

"Then fucking ANSWER me, you faggot!" A simple slap to the face, warm tentacles stinging against gashed cheek.

SpongeBob cried out, the intensity of the pain in his cut increasing as suctioncups collided with him. "I-I'm sorry!"

Squidward sighed, dropping his hold on the sponge. "It's alright. You don't know any better yet." He turned his face away, still aware of the gaze burning into the back of his head. Big blue eyes scared and confused, their largeness only intensifying Squidward's desire to crush him. "I love you, SpongeBob."

A silent pause, the sponge breathing heavily. "W-what . . .? What did you say, Squidward?"

Squidward turned around, smirking wickedly. "I said I loved you."

"Love . . .?" He didn't have time to contemplate this, as Squidward swung his arm forward, fist colliding with SpongeBob's nose. The blood flowed soon after, hot red seepage not nearly as smooth as one would expect blood to be. Nor was it red. Almost black in its thickness. It leaked into the sponge's open mouth, lips parted as he sobbed.

"I love you," Squidward said again, punching the seated sponge in the stomach. SpongeBob cried out, blood shooting from his nose as he did so, splattering the octopus on the face. Not that Squidward minded. A little mess was acceptable in this situation.

Actions or words? Which would SpongeBob believe? The verbal love or the physical pain?

The yellow boy panted and moaned in agony, leaning forward as best he could in his chair, shoulders shaking with sobs. "I-if . . . if you love me, then why are you hurting me?"

Squidward smiled, yanking the sponge upright, sitting straight in the chair. "Don't you love me too, SpongeBob?" He asked, voice eerily calm, face upbeat even with droplets of the younger boy's blood dotting it, harsh scarlet against unfeeling blue. His face darkened a bit when the sponge failed to reply. "I SAID, don't you love me t—"

"Yes," SpongeBob whimpered, throat dry, clenched tight. "Yes . . . I-I do. I love you so much, Squidward." His eyes rose slowly. "That's why . . . why this doesn't m-make any sense."

So maybe actions were louder. Maybe SpongeBob would be easier to break than Squidward had realized. He let the sponge's body slump over again.

"I don't love you, SpongeBob." No need to continue that lie. What was the use?

"Then . . . then w-why do you hate me?" SpongeBob could feel his heart throb in each of his wounds-in the wrist that still bled, in the nose that flowed, in each tiny cut . . . heart throbbing and aching and breaking by the second.

"I don't hate you, either."

If anything, that sentence scared SpongeBob even more. "But i-if you don't hate me, then . . . then why are you . . . why are yo—"

"Maybe I'm just bored," Squidward was barely paying attention to his answer, analyzing SpongeBob's body hungrily. "Maybe I just wanted to spend some time with you. Maybe . . ." He chuckled, unblinking gaze moving down, between the sponge's legs, "Maybe I'm horny." He shrugged. "Or maybe I don't owe you any explanations at all."

"But . . . anG!" SpongeBob hadn't expected Squidward to come back towards him. He also hadn't expected any physical contact, other than more hitting, more cutting.

He hadn't expected the octopus to reach between his legs, gripping at SpongeBob's crotch almost cautiously, almost tenderly.

Almost lovingly.

SpongeBob yelped, unable to pull away due to the restraints.

"Relax, SpongeBob. I thought you said you loved me," Squidward was practically purring as he got down on his hands and knees, unbuttoning SpongeBob's square pants with ease.

"I . . . I . . ." He couldn't responded, no words available for this sort of situation. True, he loved Squidward.

But . . .

"P-please don't touch me there, Squidward. Please . . .?" He shuddered as his neighbor fingered the front of his underwear.

Squidward, of course, didn't obey the bleeding, crying sponge, letting his hand trail into the young male's underwear, grabbing his cock smoothly. "Feels good, hmm?"

SpongeBob gasped, face flushing red. The pain in his wrist and nose seemed to ebb away as his coworker stroked him, taking his time with each touch.

"Y-yes," SpongeBob whispered, biting his bottom lip to keep from moaning. "Yes . . .i-it . . . it feels wrong, but . . . but . . ."

"You like it, don't you?"

SpongeBob groaned softly, Squidward's hand moving more insistently now, clammy suction cups against the sponge's swollen length nearly throwing the yellow boy over the edge completely.

"Y-yes," SpongeBob nodded, breath hitching. "I . . . I like it . . ."

Squidward chuckled. "Good." He continued his movements, smoothly using his other hand to unsheathe yet another knife, blade small, serrated, sharpened. "I'm glad you're enjoying this," He worked his hand faster than, the hand holding the dagger tightening a bit as he spoke his next words. "If you cum, I'm cutting your cock off."


	6. Chapter 6

**Good evening and or afternoon. (Because it can be an and.) It is I, the one and only, (Minus the fakes) Poisonetta...Now now, please put down all the knifes and flamethrowers and whips...(Well, okay, whips can stay.) I do have a reason why I was inactive...I just started Drivers Ed yesterday and I had been working on it for the past month, I feel horrible to have kept you all waiting, so horrible in fact that technically I don't have the time to spare writing the chapter, but I'm going to anyway, while I have a bit of inspiration because of your lovely reviews!!**

**Also, side note: Tampon, I will be working on your story in time, probably in the weekend!**

**Warning: Unedited crap is what you're about to read, oh and mutilation, slight language and maybe a little sexual intercourse, I have no idea, only a hand job so far.**

**Now, enough wasting time, here we go!!!!**

**~xoxo~**

A face turned in confused pleasure quickly turned into a face of just plain confusion

"W-What?!" Yellow sponge gasped, not like he ever heard the term 'cock' before, but he figured it had to do with the body part Squidward was messing with.

"You heard me, I spoke clearly." Turquoise eyelids lowered in concentration.

Cue long pause.

"But...But why? What did I do? If its because I annoy you really I can just leave!"

A small chuckle, "You did nothing, nothing you could have controlled rather, and why? Well, in a bit you won't be thinking of why I'm doing it anyway so there really is no point in telling you."

Silence, pure silence once the words escape the squids mouth.

_Hm, panic, fear, confusion, interesting, he's starting to realize the truth to this situation, there isn't any hope for him, finally, **finally** he will feel pain, he will know what it feels like to be in genuine pain, to have genuine tears, to feel real, to **be **real, like me._

Slow hand movement, thrusting up and down tenderly, slowly he gained momentum.

Spongebob shifted slightly and moaned, having no idea how to stop this from happening.

"P-Please Squidward!! Don't...Please don't hurt me." Whispered words between gasps and moans.

A small chuckle was all he received as an answer.

Continually thrusting, finally the squid smirked before he rubbed his tentacle gently a few times over the head of Spongebob's man(boy?)hood.

The boy thrusted up slightly, being he was tied to a chair, and moaned loudly before falling back down.

"Oh, games over already?" Small black eyebrow raised up in curiosity.

A whimper was his only reply.

_Finally, after waiting and waiting for the perfect moment, this was it, this was the beginning of the end, the start of the sponge's personal hell to reality._

"Ah well, I guess its time then." Voice spoken calmly, a tinge of something else in it though.

"P-Please don't do-"

Cut off shortly but a piercing pain, one he had never felt before in his life.

The knife cut slowly, painfully slowly, blood gushed out foreignly, splattering on Squidwards hands.

A sharp gasp was all that could manage to come from the sponge's lips, face turned pale as his eyes rolled back, body limp.

"You're still breathing." The blue squid muttered as he walked to the kitchen to grab a cloth, slowly he walked back toward the fragile sponge and quickly put it on as a tourniquet.

"Hm, if you didn't like that then you're certainly not going to like what comes next." He mumbled, brown eyes glazed over slightly as if in a daze. He quickly stood back up and made sure his neighbor was securely tied up, he also made sure all the doors and windows were locked. He exited the room the sponge was in before quickly locking it from the outside, he walked over toward the bathroom.

"I might as well get clean." He sighed before smirking at himself in the mirror.

"Well, you finally took that first step Squiddy, now, you can finally break the sponge, then and only then will you be able to fix him." He chuckled. "This will be fun..." He whispered before turning the water on.

~xoxo~

**A/N: Yes yes yes and again, this chapter is short, yet another one I know. But as I said I don't have the time...But yeah, I will work to make my next one longer, have fun with your chapter TM!!! Reviews are loved, seriously!! **

**-Poison.**


	7. Chapter 7

**AN: Took me a little while, but I finally figured out what I wanted to say in this chapter. Sooooo . . . here's the next chapter and such.**

The water caressed Squidward's body with the intimacy of a long lost lover, curving down every inch of his pale aqua skin. He shuddered, a soft moan escaping his lips, though his arousal had little to do with the shower and more to do with the deed he'd just committed.

The game was officially started now. No, more than started. He had a very good lead so far. Funny how he had to continually remind himself of that fact. He hadn't anticipated the rush that would follow dismembering SpongeBob like that. That feeling of the knife slipping into trepid yellow skin, breaking the surface with a soft squish.

Orgasmic. Absolutely orgasmic. Squidward chuckled, wrapping a bloody tentacle around his own cock now, stroking in time to his laughter. That look on SpongeBob's face right before he'd sliced, too. Priceless. He'd known he'd enjoy this, but he hadn't expected it to turn him on quite as much as it had.

He pulled his hand off his cock, hastily turning off the faucet and stepping out of the tub, wrapping the towel around his waist without bothering to dry himself.

He was much too insane to sexually satisfy himself. No, SpongeBob would work perfectly well in this situation. Squidward licked his lips, stinging his tongue with the taste of shower water and dried blood. Huh, guess he hadn't washed himself too well after all. Ah well, it would be a reminder.

Not that he needed any more reminding. He stepped out of the bathroom, reaching for the door separating him from his reality project.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

SpongeBob couldn't black out. Couldn't pass out. Couldn't sleep, couldn't fade away, couldn't do anything.

All he could do was cry. Shiver and cry and hurt.

Oh god, did it hurt. He moaned, shoulders slumping forward as he sobbed, each tremble of his thighs bringing yet another jolt of pain.

Pain. Squidward had hurt him. Really physically hurt him. Tears slid down flushed cheeks, SpongeBob barely able to comprehend this. Yes, he'd known deep down that he annoyed Squidward, but . . . but . . .

He gasped for breath, sobbing harder than he'd realized. Squidward hated him. HATED him. That was almost as awful as the feeling that knife had brought him. No, that had hurt worse. Having body parts removed, flesh torn away, but . . . but . . . oh god, Squidward hated him. Squidward hated SpongeBob.

And SpongeBob loved Squidward so much. Had always loved him. Adored and admired and idolized.

How could this be happening? After all the love SpongeBob gave? Was his love not enough?

The door creaked open, revealing the toweled Squidward. SpongeBob gasped softly, unable to stop crying, stop hurting, stop loving, even as Squidward stepped closer to him.

"Awww, was I too rough on you?" Squidward cooed, voice unbelievably cruel, careful calmness eroded now. SpongeBob's eyes widened, flesh tingling the closer Squidward stepped. "What's wrong, SpongeBob? Don't you like what you see?"

SpongeBob whimpered. "S-Squidward, I-I n-need to go to the hospital."

Squidward rolled his eyes. "Oh please, SpongeBob, I barely touched you." He reached out, stroking SpongeBob's face smoothly, suction cups grinding against the scabbed cut on his cheek, breaking the flesh open once more. Pus and blood dribbled down SpongeBob's jaw. "Trust me, _darling_, you'll be beyond the need for hospitals by the time I'm through with you."

"W-What do you mean?" SpongeBob couldn't fight Squidward off as the octopus untied him, flipping him around before rebinding him. SpongeBob groaned, face pressed into the chair with his ass facing up, completely exposed for Squidward's pleasure.

"You may no longer be a man, Sponge, but I think I'm still going to fuck you like one." Then, amending, "Well, fuck you like a bitch, anyway." He laughed once more. Cruelty was easier than calmness, although he truly felt no hatred towards the sponge.

In fact, as far as Squidward was concerned, he was only doing this because he loved SpongeBob. Loved him enough to present him with the gift of reality.

- - - - - - - -

"Well, that was a nice date," Mindy smiled, nuzzling against Patrick's arm.

The starfish sighed, yanking his arm away from the mermaid. "Yeah, well, whatever, I guess."

She batted her eyelashes, pouting her lips a bit. "Anything else you have planned for the night?"

"Uhhh . . ." A bit of drool trailed down Patrick's chin, his eyes dull. "Nah. Going home."

"Want me to walk yo—"

"I DON'T LIKE YOU!" He snapped, scowling. "Jeez, Mindy, back off already. I mean, you're hot and everything, but you're just so boring. All you talk about it "books" and "the theatre" and "ruling the sea". So what?" He turned away, heading towards his house, leaving a shocked and brokenhearted princess behind him.

He'd rather talk to SpongeBob any day.

. . . SpongeBob.

The star paused in his walk, eyes widening a bit. SpongeBob. Now there was an interesting conversationist. And he was pretty cute to boot.

Oh . . . oh Neptune, what was happening? Why were Patrick's pants suddenly feeling so incredibly tight? And why was his heart beating so fast? And why was he suddenly running home, eager to reinvite his best friend over for that sleepover he'd idiotically canceled?

Did the whys really matter? He shivered a bit, going into his rock and tossing his date clothes off, rubbing a pink thumb against the head of his cock teasingly before redressing in his purple and green shorts. Did this look good enough? Neptune, why did he even care if he looked good enough? It was just SpongeBob.

The name sent shivers down Patrick's non-existent spine and yet another pump of blood to his painfully engorged cock. How had this happened, this sudden adoration for SpongeBob? SpongeBob . . . oh damn, another shudder, a pleasured moan. It tickled his lips, buzzed pleasantly through his mind.

He didn't know how this happened, no, and honestly at this point it didn't matter. He needed to find SpongeBob. Now.

Where was . . . oh, right! Squidward's house, duh. Patrick smiled, stepping out of his rock and approaching the Easter Island head that was his neighbor's home.

If he didn't get his feelings out now, surely he'd go crazy.

- - - - - - - - - - -

SpongeBob hadn't realized it was possible to hurt any further than he already did, but he'd been wrong. Horribly wrong. He writhed, screaming as Squidward shoved his cock in and out of him. Grunts and groans of pleasure mixing with the sobs and sniffles from SpongeBob, the sharp slap of dry bodies grinding and penetrating echoing through the room.

The octopus may have physically been in ecstasy, but mentally he was already piecing together his next move. True, rape was all well and good, but how could he destroy SpongeBob's sense of reality further? He had to hurt SpongeBob deeply, deeper than himself. After all, the yellow boy was a selfless guy. He placed others' needs before his own.

But who was most important? True, Squidward understood that SpongeBob was in love with him, but there were other forms of love, after all.

Funny. The idea of shattering others to shatter SpongeBob hadn't occurred to Squidward until this moment. It angered the cephalopod that he'd left this idea unturned, forcing his thrusts to quicken all the more, to tear into the sponge's virginal flesh rougher. More blood gushed from the ever-breaking SpongeBob, wails of desperation filling the small space in a crescendo of absolute agony.

The idea berated Squidward, echoing and taunting. Break SpongeBob, rebuild him, break him through someone else. Break him by proxy. Proxy, who could be the proxy? Who meant the most to SpongeBob? Why wasn't it occurring to Squidward? He growled, thrusting harder. Fuzzy, everything was growing fuzzy in his rage.

And then, just like that, clarity. In the form of a knock on the door.

Squidward paused, pulling out of the bleeding and crying SpongeBob. Who would knock on the door now? He pulled away, exiting the windowless room and stepping down the stairs, not bothering to redress as he opened the front door.

Patrick.

Squidward couldn't help smiling, hand on his hip as he eyed the starfish.

Patrick. Patrick Star. Patrick Proxy.

SpongeBob's best friend. His oldest friend. His most important friend.

Essentially, SpongeBob's everything.

Squidward laughed, not caring how odd this must look to Patrick. A naked, blood-covered Squidward, laughing in the doorway.

Time to invite the little sacrificial lamb in, Squidward supposed. Time to truly get to some hard core heartbreak.

Time to show SpongeBob how much love could really hurt.


	8. Chapter 8

**Oh God, this is long over due. I'm so sorry for the wait, I've been so busy. Sorry if its too short but I finally got inspired and had to write to the limit, tonight, or I wouldn't ever finish.**

**Anyway, only warnings are rape and character death, 's tragic I know. Sorry if it offends you pansy's. Oh and because I'm a whore, Tampon's birthday was recent! 20-something of August, I suck at memory, anyway, wish he a happy happy birthday birthday please.**

**:)**

He gripped tightly to fat pink flesh.

"S-Squidward?"

There was no fear in the starfish's voice, Squidward noticed, just curiosity. Too trusting of his neighbor, too ignorant to realize the intentions of said neighbor.

Pathetic, unrealistic to harbor such fake emotions, such drawn on stupidity.

Squidward didn't care enough to show this one reality, no no no, this one was born in ignorance, and would die in it.

"Come in." It wasn't a question, it was a demand softened by a kind tone. _Fake _tone.

"Okay." That damn trust, any real being would know to turn the other way from someone with blood all over them, with the wild dead eyes.

Once guided in Squidward quickly locked the door and looked over at the pink boy.

It was a slight change of his ideal plan, if he didn't analyze every single possibility, he would have been stuck, but he had thought of this and an easy solution to it.

He finally grabbed a rope while Patrick was looking around the room, curiosity painted on his face as he saw blood spots around the room.

Squidward quickly gripped tightly again to the wrists of the starfish, tying them before the lazy but strong boy could react.

"Now, Patrick, you're going to listen to me and do as I say, or you won't live very long."

The kind tone had completely left the aqua blue mans voice, which morphed into a numb almost dark sound.

"W-What?!" Fear edging its way into the voice of Patrick, at least he would have a real emotion before death got to him.

"I didn't heisitate when I spoke." The squid paused as he roughly carried the pink boy to the sponge.

"Spongebob!" Patrick yelled as he saw the pale yellow, bloody sponge.

"P-Patrick?" Hope filled the bright blue eyes, such a fake emotion overwhelming the young boy.

Squidward was almost happy to break the unrealistic emotions, he quickly grabbed a knife from a nearby desk and looked over at Patrick.

"Let me word this clearly, I want you to rape Spongebob." His words were painfully clear and blunt.

Patrick stared in stunned silence before shaking his head, stupid determination.

"No, I won't!" He yelled.

Squidward sighed lightly, he looked down at his feet before smirking lightly.

"I told you, do as I say." He paused as he brought the knife to the boys chest, pressing down hard and slitting through the skin to the other side, listening to the pleasant sound of the boys scream. "Or you won't live very long."

"P-Patrick...Please...D-Do as he says...I can't lose you..." The sponge spoke in a raspy voice, eyes weak from pain and being tired.

"Spongebob...I uh...Can't! That would hurt you." Patrick may be dumb, but he knew sexual terms, his eyes wide in fear.

"Patrick, your naïve friend is being smart for once, I'd suggest you listen to him." The squid spoke in a deviantly slow tone as he quickly took the starfish's pants off.

"I-I don't want to hurt him!" Patrick cried, as Squidward harshly rubbed his manhood, erecting it beyond the others wishes. "Please don't make me-"

"Do it now, or you're dead." Voice deadly serious.

"Pat, its okay, do w-what he says..." The sponge muttered.

Patrick looked down as his eyes watered slightly, he walked toward Spongebob and grabbed gently onto his shoulders, positioning himself to the sponges lower hole.

"I'm sorry, Spongebob." He whispered as he finally penetrated the boy.

The yellow sponge gasped in pain, too hurt to scream or cry, closing his eyes tightly as the starfish pulled out and back in, getting a reluctant rhythm before cumming quickly.

Squidward sighed. "Damn, you both are fast."

Patrick pulled away quickly and sobbed, Spongebob just moaned in pain.

"Spongebob," Squidward started as he slowly got toward Patrick. "Has anyone close to you ever died?"

He asked quietly.

The yellow sponge sighed in agony. "N-No..." He hiccuped.

"Well, now you will." At those words Spongebobs head shot up.

Squidward quickly reared his tentacle with the knife back before aiming it back toward the starfish and shoving it in his chest, directly to the heart. Patrick gasped before his pink skin turned almost white as his eyes rolled to the back of his head, he fell hard on the cold concrete floor, he gave one final deep breath before he stopped breathing completely.

"Patrick!" Spongebob screamed, before his breath slowly progressed to hyperventilation, his eyes wide in fear and shock, not being able to believe his best friend just died, his mind trying desperately to block the memory, the defense mechanism in his mind being shattered from trying to block it so hard.

This was the full beginning, he was finally beginning to understand real feelings, reality.

The squid couldn't help but grin at the boy, this would be an interesting trip to reality.

**Added A/N:**

**Sorry its so short, I wanted to leave a place Tamps could quickly jump on.**

**But this is it, this is my crap writing. Sorry it sucks.**


	9. Chapter 9

**AN: Shithole, I, uh, I'm sorry I did this, Poison. But you KNOW I love this character now. I kinda couldn't resist. Uh, and to the reviewers, this is probably the single most out of character chapter you're gonna get in this fic. Sorry 'bout that. But alternate character interpretations can be fun, right?**

Did he remember Squidward Tentacles?

He remembered the insecure classmate, yes. The knobby knee'd freshman with the bright red eyes and the soft yellow hair. He remembered the carefully scripted repertoire they'd maintained throughout the years, remembered every insult thrown and every received. Yes. Yes, he remembered Squidward Tentacles in that sense, the glossy outer shell, the model of what could have been, what never could be.

Did he remember Squidward Tentacles, the reality? Did he remember their first meeting, their true first meeting? Not in high school, as both steadfastly maintained, but _there_? Antiseptic, clinical, the nightmare of adults. No child should have had to grow up with that.

He certainly should not have grown up in that environment. And as far as he was concerned, he hadn't. Locked the memories away, forgetting about the medication rounds and the surveillance.

"Danger to himself," They'd whispered about him.

"Danger to others," They'd whispered about Squidward.

Funny. And Squidward had always considered him a force to be reckoned with, at least in high school. Strange that Squidward played the role of fear, when he was the one with the true reason to be afraid.

He. Squilliam Fancyson. He was the one who should have been afraid of Squidward.

But he wasn't. Not because he was noble and brave, no.

Honestly he was so good at hiding that he'd forgotten himself. No, the richer of the two cephalopods didn't remember their extensive stays at St. Catherine's Children's Lockdown Unit. Psych Ward. Whatever the true name had been. He didn't remember screaming and punching at the walls and wishing for his mommy to just take him home. He didn't remember the shots of tranquilizers. He didn't remember the meds forcefed to him. And as far as he was concerned, the scars he had on his arms were from some mild childhood accident, not from restraints to keep him from…no, not hurting the nurses, but hurting himself.

Self-harm. He, Squilliam Fancyson, the ultimate narcissist (or so he could play, well enough to fool even himself), was a risk to himself.

To himself. Not to others. No, he wouldn't-couldn't hurt anyone else. Not physically. Hell, barely emotionally. Superficial insults, yes. Actual ruination of one's life? No.

But Squidward…

Squilliam squirmed in the backseat of his limo, eyes clouded over as vague memories danced in his mind. Memories he couldn't grasp and, even upon grasping, couldn't believe or truly understand.

Bic lighters and pranks which went beyond normal levels of childhood. Screams and begs for the nurses to switch roommates, to exchange the scene, the situation. Burns in spots no one would check, scratches which could be played off as yet another suicide attempt, another thing Squilliam did wrong. Blame the victim, keep him around longer.

Long enough to know better than to remember any of it. And so he didn't. Squilliam just didn't. Willful disassociation with his childhood trauma.

Which explained why he was going over to Squidward's house right now. Not armed with premonition or a necessity to do good. Not as a savior to a victim he had yet to meet.

No. He was going to Squidward's for one reason and one reason only.

It was Tuesday.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

It was Tuesday.

The thought entered his head seconds before Squilliam actually arrived.

"You killed him! Oh god, oh god, Squidward…Squidward, how could you…you killed…? Oh god, Patrick! PATRICK!" SpongeBob couldn't gain control of himself, flailing on the melted pieces of his broken heart.

Tuesday. The day of the week. Concentrating and slowing time as he fixated. Tuesday. Who came over every Tuesday?

The doorbell rings and memory was jogged.

Squilliam.

Of course. Squilliam fucking Fancyson. Squidward's lips twitched in delight. This was one visitor Squidward had counted on, even if he'd put the idea on the back burner, just in case. Unlike Patrick, this was completely planned. Completely counted on. Expected.

"I hate you!" SpongeBob screamed. "I HATE YOU!"

"Shut the fuck up, SpongeBob," Squidward spoke wearily, despite the newfound pep in his step.

"J-Just kill me already. Please!"

"You stay quiet," Squidward muttered as the doorbell rang once again.

"Don't tell me what to do!" Amazing the sudden ruthlessness SpongeBob tried to convey, now that something he'd truly loved had been taken from him.

No, two somethings. Patrick and Squidward, in a sense. SpongeBob had lost the illusion of who Squidward Tentacles was. Lost the beauty of the façade, replaced with cold cunning and brutal indifference.

Impressive as SpongeBob's emotions were, however, he needed him to shut up. At least for the moment. Right now, Squidward had a guest to entertain.

"You shut the fuck up," Squidward stroked the sponge's crying face, before cooing softly, "Or I'll kill whoever's outside."

That certainly silenced the kindhearted boy. Yellow flesh paled, lower lip trembling. "Like you killed Patrick?"

"Mhm! So just stay quiet, deary. This won't take long."

He walked out of the room, still blood soaked, but facially sound. Calm, vaguely annoyed expression as he finally got to the front door.

Squilliam was predictable as always, barely waiting for the door to open before pouncing onto Squidward. Pouncing before grimacing in distaste, pulling away. "Ew, Squiddy, what did you do to yourself?"

"Why are you here?"

Squilliam blinked, forgetting to appear disgusted by Squidward's appearance, momentarily appearing hurt before grinning, careful confidence resumed. "I needed a release. And who better than to help me out than the boy that was voted most likely to—"

"Suck eggs in high school, yeah, I get it." Leave it to Squilliam to fixate on high school, the one time Squidward had allowed him freedom, allowed his ego to flourish and develop and placate. High school. The meeting place as they both insisted to anyone who cared to listen. Squilliam insisting as, well, probably as a coping mechanism. And Squidward?

Because it was fun to fuck with expectations. Fun to fuck with society as a whole.

Fun to fuck with Squilliam especially. Ex-suicidal octopus's fragile psyche little more than a chew toy for Squidward's incisors to mash and chew and tease.

"Jeez, no reason to bite my head off."

Fitting for the chew toy to talk about biting.

Yes, Squilliam was definitely Squidward's. His first true possession, honestly. Broken and trained, clear in his cracking confidence.

Which was why Squidward honestly didn't plan on killing him. At least not thus far in his plan. Though things did pop up unexpectedly (things which Squidward, of course, had long thought out, all possibilities clearly planned and marked). But really, what use was breaking someone who was already broken?

Yes, Squilliam was good for the occasional quick Tuesday bang. And he'd certainly been fun to toy with back in their institutional days. Toy with and ultimately shatter. But now, pieces glued precariously and memories locked away, Squilliam was teetering on nervous breakdown status on a constant basis. He was damaged goods. No reason to even throw him away. That would be too merciful. Funner still to keep him alive, keep him dancing and thriving when he'd much rather shrivel and sleep.

It was amusing how easily people bought into the theory that Squilliam was selfish, self-absorbed, egotistical and independent, while Squidward was all depression and angst, victimized by a society who couldn't understand someone of such artistic values.

Artistic values… shit! The paintings!

"Why are all your paintings knocked down?" Squilliam roamed the small living space slowly, taking in the blankness of walls.

"I…"

Squilliam didn't honestly care, swirling around and kissing Squidward once, then a second time, lingering then. "Really, Squiddy, what's on you?"

There it was. That needy voice. That was what Squidward wanted. "Blood."

A flash of fear before that unibrow wiggled in delight. "I didn't realize you were such a sexual deviant." Faking as though he didn't believe, as though he didn't find Squidward capable of such behavior.

"There are a lot of things you don't know about me, Squilliam."

"Such as?"

"I just killed a guy."

That devastated expression lingered longer this time, features softened with the reality of his nature shining through, the beautiful realism of his true self outweighing the luster of deception before self control was maintained, homeostasis once more reinstated. Squilliam laughed, nuzzling against Squidward's neck. "Good one, Squiddy. Now let's get you out of these clothes and into your bed, shall we?"

"Actually, I think we should check out a different room." Squidward grabbed his rival's-his property's-hand and coaxed him to the stairs, pulling him up and avoiding puddles of blood. "I wanna show you the body."


	10. Chapter 10

**Hi Loves, its Poison here. Again, sorry it took so long to post this, I've been too damn busy. Okay it really was hard writing this, and it looks really messy to me, personally. And I think I messed the characters up a bit. But eh, whatever. **

**You know I don't own Spongebob and this is M for a reason.**

**Enjoy.**

"Squidward..." He sighed, not sure what else to say after seeing the now dead Patrick and the brutally butchered and horrified Spongebob.

Squilliam's reaction had changed a lot in those few minutes. From ignorant, to horrified, to disgusted and now to a rather calm emotion.

"I was hoping you'd show up here today." Squidward crossed his arms. "If you didn't this would have been more troublesome then I would have liked." He finished.

The other squid sighed lightly, it was nothing new to him. He always would cover up his rivals mess. It was no longer even a burden. He was rich, obviously, so with just the right amount of money he could make the dead boy vanish. Make it private instead of public. And Squidward, as always, would end up unscathed. Only a few times had he failed money wise, depending on who the other had killed or harmed. But in those cases Squidward would only end up in the mental ward for a bit, until the money would save his ass. Just like it always did.

It made Squilliam rather sick of life, sick of how fish were, easily silenced by just a bit of money. It was disgusting to him.

"What do you need me to do, exactly?" Squillam asked, cocky voice turning into a more irritated one.

It wasn't actual irritation, Squidward noted.

"Just like always, help me get rid of the evidence and pay the police off." He spoke in a matter-o-fact tone. Showing this conversation was nothing new.

The other squid raised his uni brow slightly. He never realized how 'normal' this conversation was to them. It was like how people talk about the weather. He almost found that hilarious.

"One second." He replied, walking coolly to the front door, softly he walked toward his limo, which was still waiting for him.

"Just grabbing my suitcase." He muttered, he had planned on going on a trip that evening. Meet a lover or two. He hadn't quite planned for this.

"Yes sir." The driver replied.

He quickly grabbed the case and walked calmly back in the house, shutting and locking the door and going back in the other room.

"Please kill me!" Spongebob begged, voice sounding more and more desperate. His blue eyes grew dim as they glazed over with tears. "Please..." He whispered.

"I have no intentions on killing you." Squidward replied, voice soft and stoic.

"Here." Squilliam entered the room again with his suit case. "I have sanitizer, wipes and Thermite.' He added. Again, this was the typical way they would clear the evidence.

"It would be best if we got rid of the body first." He continued. "That would make cleaning easier."

The other squid sighed in frustration. "I can't go, I have to take care of him." He pointed in the direction of Spongebob.

"Fine, I'll go take care of this," He paused to nudge the starfishes head with his tentacle. "and then I'll return, it'll only take a couple hours." He finished.

They both knew Squilliam was trust worthy. After all the things they have been through, he was by far trust worthy. He wouldn't betray Squidward. He couldn't.

The facade of them being rivals always dissolved whenever they were alone together. Whenever Squidward was in this persona. It use to scare Squilliam. But now it didn't, whenever the other squid was harming someone, he would hardly ever hurt the uni-browed one. So in a sick way Squilliam had rather seen someone else perish then he feel the scorch of Squidward.

He smirked lightly, Squidward always called him his rival, and to the naked eye it was just one sided. But they were in every sense of the word, rivals. Both trying to be better then the other. Both so desperately wanting that with everything in them. They were eternal rivals.

--

"Right here." Squilliam yelled over the loud winds to the one flying the helicopter.

Once they finally got enough distance where Squilliam could climb down, he grabbed the rather huge bag and pushed it to the helicopter door, quickly pushing it out. Finally he grabbed the ladder and carefully climbed down the helicopter safely to the ground.

He had told the driver earlier to be back in about an hour, if not he would make sure he never could get a job again. So he knew the threat would work.

After he left Squilliam finally got to work, he quickly grabbed the bag of Thermite and the corpse of Patrick, he put the Thermite all over the body. After about twenty minutes with that and Magnesium he was able to start the fire. Running quickly away from it he watched from a distance as it literally burnt the body away. He sighed as he plopped down on the ground. Putting his face in his hands and sighing. This shouldn't be normal. They shouldn't be doing this.

But it was to them, and they were.

And apparently, that was that.

--

**A/N:**

**Okay, I had to add a quick note. Thermite is an actual thing, that apparently can burn away bones and melt through metal. It can reach about 2500 degrees Fahrenheit, fun, right?**

**Oh, and get this, its totally legal. Fun times! **

**Got all this information from a website, I am in no way a murderer, this is a article site too ha.**

**Reviews are love.**

**3**


	11. Chapter 11

**AN: Hello, good readers! Been awhile, hasn't it? Sorry for the wait, and hope this doesn't disappoint too much. Now review, asshats! Like a Polaroid picture. I got a feeling I mixed that up a little. Oh well.**

"It's done."

It was unnecessary for Squilliam to speak the sentence, to address the trustworthiness of his nature that both were fully aware of.

But he had to say something. Had to announce himself. Better that than to surprise his apparent rival. Surprising Squidward while he was like this was never a good idea, bringing out knee-jerk reactions Squilliam didn't care to witness.

"Good."

"…S-Squiddy…?" Shit. He winced, swallowing at the lump forming in his throat as the crazed cephalopod turned around, away from the crying sponge.

"You're stuttering again. Isn't that cute?"

"I—"

"Didn't you pay speech therapists to get rid of that pesky little habit of yours?" Squidward bridged the gap between them, blood on his hands seeping into the soft robe, pulling him close with a chuckle. "Are you so excited to see me that you can't even speak properly?"

Squilliam forced himself to hold still as Squidward's tongue snaked down the side of his face, sucking at his neck, before biting, grinding into collar bone. It took everything in him to keep from screaming.

Everything wasn't enough, face turning away with a whimper. It didn't matter how often this happened, didn't matter how much he deluded himself to believe this to be normal, to all be part of the master plan of survival whenever he was around Squidward.

Cracks holding back his memories stretched further, allowing more to leak forth. Screaming for mercy while Squidward held him down, restraining him by the wrists before biting his chest. Not nibbling, not sexual foreplay, but biting, scarring Squilliam's once perfect flesh.

Squilliam pulled himself away from that, keeping away any thoughts about childhoods, about his actual relationship with Squidward, trying so hard to keep the stutter away. Subject change. Small words, easy and slow. He could do this.

"Who…who is he?"

"The one you burned away?"

Another flicker of pain, singular despaired sob drawing a laugh from Squidward. His true laugh, not the snide snicker of a cashier and artist, but the booming echo of a desecrator of lives, the chortle of a psychopath with a penchant for distorting the definition of reality.

"No," Squilliam refused to think of the bodies as living entities, refused to give them any sort of life. If he did that, then he'd…he'd… "H-him."

Shit, his stutter really was back. Only Squidward could have such an effect on him.

No, not Squidward, at least not in the general sense. Not the public façade Squilliam openly ridiculed, because 98% of the time, Squidward Tentacles was little more than someone to verbally joust with, to compare life points with. That same percentage accounted for Squilliam's somewhat demented love for Squidward. Affection leading to these Tuesday meetings, Tuesday fuck and run, wishing for a cuddle.

Then Tuesdays like this came around and fucked everything up. Real Squidward showed up, his true form, the looming shadow which still haunted Squilliam's childhood, as loath he was to admit it. Insanity (or reality, if Squilliam fully digested Squidward's doctrine) grinding out any form of social normality. Squidward was the success, and Squilliam was the fumbling failure, the kicked worm with the wide eyes just looking for some form of release.

Squilliam couldn't look at the sponge, not fully, squeezing eyes shut and still seeing red. He wasn't aware his legs had given out until Squidward grabbed onto him, wrapped arms around his torso and eased him into a more comfortable sitting position. Almost loving, almost caring, except Squilliam wouldn't allow himself to be so delusional.

"He's no one," Squidward finally answered, stroking the top of his rival's head. "I'm going to make him into somebody, though."

Squilliam opened his eyes, letting his gaze rise to meet Squidward's.

"Just like I did for you, Squilliam."

* * *

Squidward wasn't here any longer. Physically as well as mentally, no longer in the same room, abandoning both puppets in favor of other surroundings, for reasons none but the departed knew.

How SpongeBob was aware of this fact, he wasn't entirely sure. In and out of consciousness, peace before throbbing and pain, the glimmers of reality staining his earlier picture of the world.

Baby blue eyes had never seemed as bright as now against the pale yellow of his face. Yellow and red and blue, all he consisted of now. Nothing but three colors.

His vision cleared after brief tunneling, landing on the crying heap lying in a corner. Weeping.

"S…Squidward?" He almost didn't recognize his own voice, coughing after a moment, parched and empty.

The head raised, eyes large, hollow, framed by his unibrow.

Not Squidward. SpongeBob let out a shaky breath, unaware he'd been holding it in.

"You're n-not Squidward."

"No," The man dried his eyes on the back of his sleeve, red sleeve of a fine fabric robe.

SpongeBob knew him. Knew of him, anyway. But he couldn't place the exact identity. Who…?

"Look, sponge, I'm not sure who you are or what you did to upset Squiddy, but…b-but…" Whoever it was looked away, choking back gags. Now he was the one coughing.

"Are you okay?" SpongeBob shook at his bonds, trying to pull away to comfort the being, whoever he may be.

As similar as he looked to Squidward, he definitely wasn't. And from the looks of things, he was just as much a victim as SpongeBob.

"My name's SpongeBob."

"I don't want to know your name," He was shaking, desperate, turning away. "I don't want to know you. I don't want to know. You can't make me know."

"Are you okay?"

"No!" The man jumped to his feet, eyes looking everywhere but SpongeBob. "No, I can't be here! I just…I didn't sign up for…I'm leaving!"

"Squilliam, sit back down," Squidward stepped back into the room, latching the door behind him as he placed a hand on the unibrowed octopus's shoulder. Simple pressure enough to get him to sit on the ground. "SpongeBob, have you met Squilliam Fancyson?"

"N-no," Then, eyes wide, "Yes, I have." THAT Squilliam Fancyson? But he looked so frail. He couldn't possibly be the same mega billionaire who Squidward had often grumbled about. How could someone so broken possibly make anyone's high school life miserable?

What was true about anything? There were very few things SpongeBob could fully process at the moment. His mind faltered, landing on the image of his fallen best friend for a nanosecond, breaking him all over again before he pushed it away, tried to stay in the now. He wouldn't think about it. He didn't have to.

"Squilliam, this is SpongeBob," Squilliam didn't shout this time, sniffling instead and holding still as Squidward grabbed his chin, pulling his face up, forcing him to look. "I cut his dick off," Squidward laughed.

Squilliam flinched, trying to pull away, only forcing Squidward to tighten his grip, tentacles white against his skin, hiss of pain slipping past Squilliam's lips.

"I could cut yours off, too, you know."

"Squiddy, what are you trying to do here?" Squilliam's voice was oddly rational, not empty of emotion but sorting them, placing them to the side for now, refusing to address the fact that Squidward was threatening to mutilate his genitalia.

"Trying to do?" Squidward mulled it over, stroking a hand over Squilliam's neck. "Why do I still allow you to call me Squiddy?"

"I d-don't…"

Squidward didn't cut him off, dropping his hand, letting Squilliam fall. "In fact, why do I still allow you to speak at all?"

Squilliam glanced up, face twitching, clearly reading into Squidward's thought patterns before SpongeBob. "Squiddy, that's n-not necessary," His voice was achingly soft, SpongeBob nearly straining to hear him.

"You don't get to decide what's necessary, Squilliam."

"I-if you…if I can't talk, I—"

"What do you think I'm planning?"

"I know exactly what you're…" Squilliam couldn't finish, catching his breath, hands clasped almost in prayer position. "Please, Squiddy, you don't have to…t-to…"

SpongeBob was almost glad for this, in the tiniest part of his mind. Glad to be distracted by this display instead of forced to dwell on his own fate.

Glad until he saw Squidward grab the knife once again.

"S-Squiddy, please! I'm sorry! Please, Squiddy, please don't!"

How did Squilliam know what Squidward was planning? Judging from his lack of movement, he was already submitted to his fate, sobbing as Squidward tilted his face back, forced his lips apart and grabbed his tongue. No more arguments or apologies, unable with his mouth pried open, tongue held tight in tentacle.

"I'm not going to kill you, but there's no need for me to hear your idiotic whining any longer," Squidward smiled, sliding the blade of his knife across the top of the pink surface, prickling taste buds to bleed. Squilliam didn't jerk away, though his body did twitch. "It'll be a shame, in a way. You were always marvelous with your tongue." He cut into his skin, the motion smooth by SpongeBob's vision, though judging from Squilliam's warbled cry, voice jumbled with his mouth's position, nothing was smooth about it. "Maybe one more kiss, for old time's sake."

Squilliam's tongue seemed to hang on little more than a sinew of flesh as Squidward leaned forward, pressing their lips together. An awkward shuffle, popping of jaw, more piteous wails, Squidward's jaw muscles tensing for an instant. The veins on his forehead bulged for just a moment before Squidward pulled back, Squilliam's tongue completely disengaged, dangling between Squidward's lips.


	12. Chapter 12

**Hi loves! To your disdain, I'm sure, it is I, Poisonetta. Figured I might as well give a dose of angst on your weekend. And do it badly, unlike my beloved Tampon. XD. Well anyway...This probably is a shock, but this is I think my longest chapter I've made so far. Also probably the crappiest. Regardless I do hope you enjoy loves. And remember, M for a reason. **

**Reviews are loved, also.**

Now widened blue eyes stared at the two squids. One now without a tongue. And the other with one that wasn't his. It was as if the yellow sponge couldn't quite comprehend what just happened. It didn't feel...Real to him. He gave a noticeable cringe when Squidward turned his head back to him, spitting out the now floppy tongue from his lips.

"Whats a matter, Sponge?" He spoke in a mock concerned voice. Red eyes glazed over while eyebrows narrowed just the slightest. Showing loud and clear that he could fake an emotion almost flawlessly.

Clearly, Spongebob refused to answer, not quite knowing how to. He bit his tongue slightly just to make sure it was still there.

Squidward chuckled as if he knew what Spongebob just did.

"Why so silent? You're not the one who just had his tongue cut off." He paused before he walked toward the sponge with the knife in hand. "Now tell me, whats the matter?" He added with a smirk.

"T-This just f-feels fake." Spongebob finally was able to spit out a sentence, a badly spoken one, but one none the less. It seemed to have amused Squidward slightly as he leaned down to get to the sponge's level.

"On the contrary, Spongebob...What you were living before was fake. I'm simply showing you reality." He spoke softly, almost gently. A contrast to the sharp knife he was holding, the sharp knife that just got thrust into the young sponge's gut. Avoiding any organs needed, but obviously causing a lot of pain to the boy.

Blue eyes closed as the boy screamed out, pain overwhelming him, the once numb pains from his previous wounds came alive, he doubled over in pain as much as he could tied up. It would seem like the pain was too much as he heaved and what he had eaten before he came over fell from his mouth. After he vomited he finally was able to begin sobbing. Shaking violently as well.

"Calm down, Sponge. Out of all your wounds so far that should have been the least painful." Squidward chuckled as he finally very slowly pulled the knife from its wound.

Squilliam silently cried, making sure his sobs couldn't be heard, not wanting anymore violence to happen to him yet. This was the worst thing Squidward had ever done to him. Sure, he had stabbed him plenty, even shot him once. But he never took any parts off the squid, and certainly not one quite as valuable as his tongue. He could feel his career slipping from his fingers. For everything he did just about involved speaking, or his tongue, in some kind of way. He shook his head lightly, that was the least of his concerns right now, or should have been. Right now he had to worry about rather he'd make it out of this alive or not. The chances already seemed slim. He spat out blood from his open wound. It wasn't the first time he did that since he lost his tongue. He couldn't swallow the blood as he found the test disgusting. His eyes overflowed with tears as he closed them and looked down.

"Lets see..." Squidward muttered. "We killed your best friend...That was fun..." He paused. "Who else is close to you that we could dispose of." He pondered that thought.

"Squidward, please, don't hurt nobody else!" Spongebob cried out, which caused the squid to roll his eyes as he put the knife to the sponges cheek.

"I don't think you're in the position to tell me what to do." Squidward muttered, irritation seemed to be written on his face. "Anyway..." His face lit up as if the best idea ran through his mind. "Mr. Krabs, that's who I should kill." He grinned. "That would mean your career would be over, right?" He laughed. "If you make it out of this at all." He finished as he walked slowly toward the phone.

"Oh please Squidward, please, don't hurt him! Nobody else please!" Spongebob begged, voice clear for once. His agony evident as he cared more for his friends then himself.

Squidward sighed before he walked back over and grabbed a cloth that was on the ground, in just afew swift movements he made it into a gag.

"Be quiet, please." The squid chuckled as he walked back to the phone.

Spongebob tried to scream but it only caused him to gag, not enough to throw up again, however.

The older squid held back a grin as he grabbed the phone and began dialing.

The old red crap sighed heavily as he ate his dinner in solitude. His daughter pearl was out at some kind of conference, or whatever, he never asked many questions when it came to boring stuff like that. So now he was at the house alone. He huffed as he shoved down more food. The ring of his phone, coming out of the pure silence caused the crab to jump. He grumbled a few sailor words before finally walking toward it.

"Aye, hello?" He asked, not use to getting many calls besides ones for Pearl.

"Mr. Krabs! S-Spongebob, he...He's not breathing!" The nasally voice yelled in a panic on the other line. "Oh god oh god! Please come help!!" Squidward screamed.

"Aye aye me boy, I'll be down there in a bit! Want me to call the hospital?" He asked.

"Uh, no, that's fine. I am going to call them once we get off, just please get here!" Squidward gave a final gasp before hanging up. The crab would have probably been suspicious had it been anyone else. But he trusted Squidward. No matter what.

"And done." Squidward said calmly as he made sure the phone had hung up. "Should be even more interesting once he gets in." He added with a chuckle. He looked over at the sponge. "What, you should be happy its not you." After that was said he knew what Spongebob was thinking, how the boy would prefer that it was him rather then the friends. He couldn't understand that what the squid was doing was out of love. He was doing this for his best interest. And Spongebob would thank him for this later. That much he was certain of. After all, not many of the fish here had that chance, none, really. They all decided to live in their ignorance. Believing that they were real, when they clearly weren't. It made Squidward sick. Because you have to admit it to yourself before you can change it. That's how it always goes, right? Of course, it isn't an easy battle to become real. You have to go through hell and back. Your personality has to change dramatically...You have to change dramatically.

And well, if you can survive that, you can become real.


	13. Chapter 13

**AN: I see we're wasting our talents. How hilarious is that? That review inspired me.**

Traffic was never this heavy this time of night. Eugene's teeth ground together in annoyance and anxiety as his boat weaved in and out of the eternal line of vehicles. Of course, the one time he willingly used fuel to drive across town, the single occasion he actually needed to get somewhere, everyone was out.

The turn signal screamed at him to speed up, boat tilting precariously as he turned onto Conch Street, pulling up to the Easter Island head his cashier called home.

Glancing at the building, Mr. Krabs couldn't help picturing days of youth—not his youth, but Squidward's, before he'd gone bald, before he'd gotten so cynical—

Before Krabs had—

But the older man didn't think about that any longer, the guilt clawing at his throat in an attempt to escape, a sense of persecution within him, as he shut off the engine, walking up to the door. His knocking didn't resonate, the door just swinging open with a screeched sigh.

"Mr. Squidward?" He glanced inside, nub-like feet echoing on the cold floor. He'd been in this home before, this shrine of narcissistic delight, and he expected to see the self portraits fixed onto the wall.

He didn't see any self portraits. Just tacks where they'd once hung, faded rectangles in the paint.

And a scantily dressed cephalopod, bound, legs spread, watching him wide-eyed from the couch.

Krabs' breath caught in the back of his throat, face flushing, though with the red of his face this wasn't seen. He stepped closer, claw extended despite himself before he drew back, visually taking in the squirming form before him.

He'd mistaken him for Squidward at first, a younger Squidward, really. The blond wig had thrown him off, not the silky attire. But it obviously wasn't him, upon closer inspection. His lips were a garish, dolled on red—Krabs almost mistook it for blood, though he logically deduced it to be lipstick instead. And he had a unibrow. Huh. Who else had a…

It didn't matter. His eyes fell to the boy's—man's? It was hard to tell—chest, falling to the piece of paper taped to his exposed midriff. Quickly, he pulled it off, the octopus tensing as the tape tore at his skin, but otherwise not making a single sound.

- - - -

It wasn't as though Squilliam could make a sound, though, not really.

True, he could whimper. He could moan or sob or groan.

But he couldn't exactly speak, couldn't protest in any way.

He couldn't warn this man, either.

Not that he would have, really. Squilliam had read enough in Squidward's voice as he'd applied these cosmetic touches to him that he knew what this crab was capable of, what he had done.

In a way, maybe all of this would have been avoided, this entire nightmare would have been nonexistent if Krabs had never—

But that didn't really make any sense. After all, Squiddy—Squidward, not Squiddy (Squilliam winced at how ingrained that nickname remained), had been clinically insane back in their childhood. He couldn't hide from his memories any longer, crashing over him with no escape route, not way to tell anyone. Everything would forever remain locked inside him now.

Still, even if Krabs wasn't the primary cause of Squidward's insanity—though the smallest part of Squilliam didn't quite see any of this as fully crazy, as pathetic as he felt for admitting that—he'd definitely contributed. And for that, Squilliam almost thought he deserved his fate.

"_Let's see," Squidward smirked, eyes flitting back over to Squilliam, stepping over the pool of blood in front of him, grabbing him by the scruff of the neck and pulling him up. "What's wrong? Snail got your tongue?" He laughed, petting the tip of his tentacle along Squilliam's unibrow._

_Squilliam opened his mouth in rebuttal, but all that came out was more blood, less now, but the texture still coated his mouth._

"_You look like a whore, you know, with your lips so red." The room was silent, Squidward running this new development through his head._

Squilliam could mentally form the words along with Krabs as he read the note aloud.

"SpongeBob's fine, but I thought you deserved something for your troubles. He's already been paid for," Squilliam's stomach flipped in disgust as the elderly crab looked him over with renewed interest, small tongue flicking over his lips before he went back to reading, "But he doesn't speak English. Don't worry, he knows what he's getting into." Mr. Krabs hadn't read this part bitterly, though Squidward had written it as such.

"_It probably doesn't matter to you, Squilliam, the things he's done to me, but…" Squidward trailed off, the humor of this situation not evading him. "Oh hell, look at me, trying to garner sympathy from you after I chopped off your tongue."_

_Squilliam shuddered as the other leaned forward, nuzzling against his neck. "You still love me, though, don't you?" His lips pressed against Squilliam's just for an instance. "And I swear, it's for your own good. Don't you get sick of constantly selling yourself?" Another kiss, more playful now, nibbling his bottom lip. "Now you don't have the means to do so. The only person you can sell yourself to now is to me. And that's all you really wanted anyway. After all, why'd you come here in the first place?"_

_Squilliam bowed his head, neither agreeing nor disagreeing, blankly watching as his blood poured onto the floor in kaleidoscope patterns._

"_Once you're done with this, I'll let you take a break," Squidward didn't touch him then, rising back to his full height. "After all, this was never about you. I'll let you sleep." He laughed once again, "And no, I know you think I mean I'll kill you, but even without your tongue, you're still a very important tool for me to harness. I have plans for you, but right now, this isn't about you. So wipe that vanity off your face and do as I say."_

"I can't believe he bought me a prostitute," Mr. Krabs caught his breath, reaching out to stroke Squilliam's face in reverence.

- - - - -

The majority of people would believe just about anything if it served their own interests.

Squidward stood in the background, in the shadows, SpongeBob gagged and bound beside him. Bile didn't rise to his throat, nor did his face grow red in anger, though he did tense as the scene played.

As he knew he would. He'd purposefully set this up to remind himself. There had been other methods he could have undertaken to remove Eugene Krabs from the planet, most leaving sex completely out of the equation.

But if Squidward forgot, he was doomed to revert back to sanity, to the reality born of fools and saints, martyrs and morons. He was his own saint, his own martyr, and he was so much more intelligent than the mass production of simpletons he was forced to deal with day in and day out.

He was in touch with his own brand of sanity. He was insane. He knew this world better than the creators, whoever they may be, if they may be. He remembered his past, and allowed it to repeat in ways that matched what should have been, what would be.

SpongeBob groaned, eyes widening at the imminent fall of his boss, his hero, his father figure. That had been a nice touch as well, for Squidward to show him this, to display how easy it was for Krabs to manipulate and use the weak, the speechless. The crab had thrown the note aside in a crumpled ball, claws making quick work at hitching up the skirt, kicking legs which were already spread that much farther apart. Squilliam squirmed, eyes large in fear, anxiety, but submissive emptiness.

The same emptiness Squidward had begun to fill SpongeBob with. Filling with emptiness. Strange wording, but as accurate as anything else in this unsanitary world. It wasn't true emptiness, after all, but emptiness to the world's doctrines, cutting away expectations and viewpoints. Because then the real world shone through. Then they could see as Squidward saw.

He loved them. This was the only way they could see that, experience love and joy and sorrow as they were truly meant to be experienced. He wouldn't do this if he hated them. But then, Squidward didn't hate anyone. Hate was a wasted worldly endeavor. There was reality, and then there was nothingness. Squilliam and SpongeBob, they were destined for reality.

Patrick, he had been nothing.

And Krabs…soon, he too, nothing.

No, not soon, but already. Squidward barely had to imagine the feeling of his claws against his body, shuffling from memory to the present as his boss ran the back of his hand along Squilliam's inner thigh, pinching greedily at him. Squidward knew this, knew how it felt to try to flip your hair in front of your face as a coping mechanism, as an attempt to disappear, knowing you had no means now to defend yourself as an ex-navy officer panted bitter nothings against your neck.

Squidward knew.

And he also knew when he'd stop this, but now wasn't the time. He turned his head to see SpongeBob try to shut his eyes, though Squidward reached down, forced his eyelids to flip back open, to watch as business casual pants slithered to the ground. No underwear, of course. Probably too expensive, Squidward mused, a bitter smile crossing his lips.

Krabs hadn't worn underwear back then, either, not when he'd called Squidward into the office to discuss a possible promotion.

Squilliam coughed as Mr. Krabs ground against him, face pushing into his shoulder, a line of blood slipping along the back of his shirt in an erratic pattern. Occasionally his eyes would search out Squidward's, not pleading, not desperate, but almost understanding, completely accepting.

That was how Squidward saw it. His vision was the only vision which mattered.

SpongeBob's body spasmed in his disgust. The crab had finally thrust into Squilliam, wig tilting off-kilter at this, red eyes shutting at the finality of it. The red male grunted, voice soft and indecipherable as his hips bucked back and forth. Squidward could remember the way it had felt to have him fucking him, to feel the desk digging into his back, reality blurring with the world's perspective, none of it mattering with each thrust, each violation of his psyche and body.

It was a cheap assault, rape. Squidward didn't particularly enjoy being cheapened, to say the least.

And despite prior behavior to the contrary, he didn't particularly like seeing Squilliam cheapened.

Or rather, he didn't like seeing anyone else cheapen Squilliam. Not when Squidward took such pleasure in the process. Just another sign of his infatuation, the way he reveled in defiling and disgracing him.

And maintaining his reality, lest he ever forget just how life truly was meant to be viewed.

Squidward reached down, pulling the tape off from around SpongeBob's mouth. He didn't expect the silence to follow as long as it did, a full three seconds passing before the boy started wailing.

- - -

"Mr. Krabs! Please stop!" SpongeBob couldn't move, even as Squidward finished untying him.

His boss turned his head around slowly, not stopping his thrusting, looking at the sponge first in surprise, then annoyance. "Quiet, lad, they charge by the minute." Then, laughing, "Though since Squidward was kind enough to pay—"

"Oh, he's not a hooker, Mr. Krabs," Squidward spoke lazily, leaning against the back wall.

"What do ye mean by that?" And still he didn't pull out, fucking Squilliam as though it were both natural and boring, a necessary chore. Or an addicting chore.

SpongeBob couldn't understand it. Before tonight, he'd been a virgin. And now, with his basic understanding of anatomy, of how the process worked, he couldn't understand the obsession, the necessity.

But then, he never would, would he? Not after Squidward had cut off his…

He couldn't even think the word, the space between his legs throbbing in fresh pain. It was amazing, how little he actually felt, though. SpongeBob wondered briefly if this was normal, or if there was something wrong with his nerve syntaxes, with his mental perception.

Already, the room looked dimmer than it had when he'd first come in.

"He's not getting paid to do this. In fact," Squidward smiled, "He didn't give any consent whatsoever. Which means you're…"

The words trailed off, each second adding to the panic on Mr. Krabs's face, before he shook his head. "Yer lying."

"No. You're a rapist."

He winced, drawing out of Squilliam slowly, face scrunched in pain. "I'm not," He muttered.

"And a cheap one at that."

"Now listen here, lad, I—"

"—like to rape defenseless blondes. Or is it the species that turns you on? Which aspect was it, exactly, which drew you to us—to me, back then?" Squidward advanced on his boss, smile falling somewhere between grimace and snarl. "I've wondered that for awhile. It can't just be because I was young and naïve. Because as far as I know, you've never touched SpongeBob in such a way." His eyes lingered over SpongeBob apathetically. "Has he?"

"N-no," SpongeBob stuttered, face glowing pink at the accusations. Not Mr. Krabs. Mr. Krabs was an honest, hard working man. He would never think of doing anything like that. "Never!"

"I didn't think so," Squidward turned back to Mr. Krabs. "So what was it?"

"Squidward, it's not good to think about the past."

Krabs didn't scream as the cashier unsheathed the knife, holding it up to his throat. "It's not good to tell me what to think about, you insignificant closeted faggot." He drew the blade against Krabs' cheek lazily, Eugene wincing as a line of blood trailed down his face.

"Squidward, I never meant to…you have to understand, I—"

"You're asking ME to be understanding? After what you did to me?" It was the first time Squidward had allowed any hurt to saturate his voice.

SpongeBob couldn't decide if it was genuine or faked. The very fact that he would question it at all signaled a drastic tilt in his perspective.

"The only thing I'm struggling to understand right now is how I'm going to kill you," Squidward pulled the knife back, eyes not leaving the now trembling crab for an instant, even as he wiped the blade clean on his shirt.

"Squidward, I—"

"Shut up," The knife dove into Mr. Krabs's right eye, the scream following almost instantly. Squidward pulled the knife back, eye clinging to the blade and haltingly sliding out with it, a twist of metal to assure it wouldn't fall back into place. Surprisingly, there wasn't much blood, most of the fluids leaking clear or tainted white, though as the long eyeball popped out—and it truly did make a popping noise, a wet groan as it exited the socket—blood finally found its way to the wound, spilling darker against the natural red of Mr. Krabs's face.

"Me eye! Ye cut out me eye!" His claws flailed for a moment, before Squidward shook the eye off, letting the deflated cylindrically-shaped skin dangle from the veins of Krabs's socket as he used the blade of the knife to slice up the crab's wrists, crunching deep into his exoskeleton to tear him open, assuring fatality.

A simple death, really. But not dead yet. Squidward pushed Mr. Krabs down to his knees, enjoying the arthritic grinding of his joints almost as much as slicing his wrists, the cephalopod freeing his dick, rubbing until hardened before driving the wailing man down upon the head of his cock. Squidward's dick slid into the exposed socket, rubbing against the veins until they twisted and cracked, until the eye completely disengaged and fell to the ground, not bouncing or rolling but flattening, leaking.

Krabs screams grew quieter, his breathing barely felt against Squidward's legs as he thrust in and out of his face, effectively blinding him to both reality and the world.

And SpongeBob could do nothing but watch. Could he have run away? Possibly. Definitely, actually. This was the first time he'd been left alone, unguarded, unbound. He really could leave.

So why didn't he?

Tears sprang to his eyes, though he wasn't sure if these were for Mr. Krabs or for himself. He stood, fingers twitching as though he were going to bring his hands to his eyes, to cover them, to shield himself from this, but he didn't. He didn't even blink, no form of covering to the reality Squidward worked so diligently to present to him.


	14. Chapter 14, final chapter

_**A/N: Hey bitches, its Poison here. Wow! Where to begin... A LOT has changed since this story began back in '09... A lot of bad happened, which is why it didn't update. I realized that we left everybody hanging. I don't really talk to Tampon much anymore, so she doesn't even know I did this. But I felt it was what needed to be done. It feels so odd, a almost two year project finally finished. A collaboration that really was just made to gross people out, we thought of any way to gross everyone out. That was our phase way back when. And yet, (I don't know about her.) But I began to get attached to this story. I didn't update as much, but I loved it. And it's finally done... Anyway, without further adu, I give you, the last chapter.**_

Squidward untied Squilliam passively, and pushed him hard to the floor, knowing he wouldn't try to escape, after wards he looked back up longingly at Spongebob.

"You see now, don't you?" He asked softly, walking towards the broken boy. "You see how distorted your world was, how fake it was?"

Spongebob just looked down, unable to vocalize his pain, his betrayal.

"I just had to show you who your 'friends' really were." He sighed, "I'd show you more, but alas, our time is running short." A small pause. "And besides, I assume you already got the picture anyway." He finally reached the yellow sponge, almost dancing behind him and wrapping his arms gently across him.

"I really do love you, you know." He grinned darkly. "Well, at least now."

"If you loved me then why did you do this?" Spongebob spoke with no innocence, no sadness or hurt, his voice was dull and void of emotion.

"Because I couldn't love you until you saw the truth." He finally glided in front of the boy, red eyes staring him down, mock kindness in them. "And because I love you, I am going to do you a huge favor." He kissed Spongebob softly, focusing only on his victim.

"What are you going to do?" Spongebob whispered, eyes watering again.

"After I fuck you one more time, I'm going to kill you." Words came out bluntly, no emotion tied to them. "I know that's what you have been wanting me to do this whole time, help you escape this pain." He watched as Spongebob looked down silently, resigned to his fate. "You can't even deny that."

Meanwhile, while Squidward was distracted, Squilliam looked around the room, looking for anything to stop what should have been stopped a long time ago. Finally his eyes landed on an unused gun at the end of the room, something he assumed Squidward had planned on using, had he more time. The item was close to him, in any normal scenario he could have walked and gotten it in just a second. However, the situation was different, the blood loss was making everything foggy and distorted, and one wrong move and he would gather the other squids attention back to him, which was the last thing he wanted. He finally began to crawl and quickly as he could to the gun, trying to ignore the grunts of the sponge, and the loud noise of the dry skin slapping together in the back ground.

Squidward came silently, quickly moving his cock out of the sponge. He sighed lightly as he gripped onto his bloody knife. "Now the moment we have both been waiting for." He panted.

Spongebob just glared at his neighbor solemly.

"Don't give me such a look, Sponge, I am doing you a favor!" He rolled his eyes. "Hell, you should be showing more gratitude! I could make this slow, you know, chop you in to pieces."

Spongebob began to cry as he looked down.

"Exactly, you know your place, the games over, so I'll make this quick." He pressed the knife on the sponges neck. Right when he pressed down, a loud bang could be heard. Squidward's head shot up and his eyes widened, knife falling from his hand, he fell to his knee's silently, moving his hands to the sudden stinging area on his back, only to feel a thick liquid. He wasn't stupid, he knew what happened.

He slowly moved his way to face where the pain came from, still on his knee's, only to see a crying Squilliam.

"My, my, my." He grinned. "Even while killing me you're still a pussy." He cackled loudly, laughter echoing in the room. The other squid let out a muffled agonizing scream as he pulled the trigger a second time, the bullet thrusting into Squidwards chest. The squid fell on his face, still laughing hard, his breathing and laughter began to turn into gasps, which finally turned into giggles before stopping all together. Squilliam ran to the other squid, aimed the gun at the other squids head and shot four more bullets before sobbing and falling down as well.

After a long moment, he looked up at Spongebob with glassy eyes, he took his hand cautiously and took him to the phone, Spongebob understood what he was implying.

He grabbed the phone and quickly dialed the emergency hotline.

"Hello! Help, there has been a mass murder and attack, we need an ambulance." He huffed as he looked back over at Squilliam with a small smile.  
"We're going to make it!" His smile quickly turned back into a frown as he saw the squid with the gun in his mouth, pulling the trigger, gray mush splattered everywhere, as the rest Squilliam's body fell hard to the floor. Spongebob screamed before beginning to cry hysterically. He looked over at Squidward's dead body.

"Why did you do this?" He screamed. "I was happy with my 'fake' life!" He let out a loud agonized grunt, moving over silently to a corner, he laid down and curled into a ball, rocking back and forth while crying. Ambulance sirens blaring in the background.

_**The end.**_

_**Final Note: I'd like to add, looking back at my old writing, I see a lot of flaws in this story on my part, my writing styled was rather weird and I went in ignorant opposite directions then my co partner. Anyway, regardless of that I do hope you enjoyed this story as much as we did.**_

_**:)**_


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